


Case 26. Undercover Lover

by belmione



Category: Princess Principal (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmione/pseuds/belmione
Summary: "Finding places to be together in a very small house with three other people who know nothing of the dynamic between them, or aren’t supposed to anyway, is an obstacle to say the least."Ange and Charlotte try to figure out how to break the news of their relationship to the team.  Lighthearted Charlotte POV.





	Case 26. Undercover Lover

Charlotte isn’t sure if it’s because they’ve been apart for so long, if it’s because they never thought they’d be able to have even these little moments together, or if it’s something perfectly common in new relationships.  But, and she wonders if she should be ashamed for it, she absolutely has not been able to keep her hands off of Ange since they confessed to each other nights ago.

Ange seems similarly incapable of restraint, so at least they’re on the same page, but finding places to be together in a very small house with three other people who know nothing of the dynamic between them, or aren’t supposed to anyway, is an obstacle to say the least.

The best they’ve found is a small storage shed a little ways from the house.  It’s not in view of the porch or many of the windows. Easy enough to slip into.

All it takes is a little glance across the room, over the table, and they know. They’ve always had a talent for being able to know implicitly what the other is thinking.  All Ange has to do is give her that hungry look like she wants to hold her so tightly as if to be absorbed by her, the idea of them as separate people a distant memory.

They’ll each make a point of wandering about the house, of looking aimless.  Come in and out of common areas a few times.

Charlotte will go under the guise of taking a walk. Or doing errands. She’s not quiet enough to truly sneak out, so she settles for deception, hiding behind words and false purposes.

Ange will slip out of a window, usually her bedroom so it looks like she’s holed up by herself in there. It’s not uncommon for her, anyway.

Sometimes Charlotte gets here first and she has to wait a while. Sometimes Ange. But no matter what, once they’re together, it’s as if time stops for them. They both have another talent, one for being able to forget the existence of an outside world, of any purpose or goal that doesn’t involve one another. Remarkably and deliciously self-absorbed, able to craft whole worlds and universes that remove every unimportant detail. And any detail that isn’t Ange is unimportant.

Once the door shuts and Ange’s lips are on hers (they always are as soon as she can get them there), they’re making up for lost time both past and future. They’ve never been able to be together like this. Who knows if they ever will again when they leave this beach?

Sometimes it’s the slowest, gentlest sort of ecstasy as if they’re trying to stretch the minutes themselves.  A gradual build that sneaks up on you and takes you hostage without your noticing, overwhelming in its sweetness and simplicity.

Sometimes it’s frantic. If they don’t have much time or if the threat of time running out is looming today (and it’s looming often after a childhood and adolescence like the one they’ve had) and everything is a flurry, desperate and breathless. The sound of frantic gasping filling the small space so that it’s nearly deafening.  The air, already hot and close in desert sun, even closer because they can’t and won’t let go of each other even as they start to sweat.  Is it hard to breathe because of the heat or because there’s something about Ange that always makes it hard to breathe?  Especially now when the sheen of sweat across her looks so beautifully otherworldly and there’s no question in her mind that she was born royalty.

And then sometimes it’s rather…difficult.

For one, it is very, very small in here. And hot. Sometimes it’s nice and then sometimes Charlotte would rather be somewhere a little cooler.  

It’s also not the cleanest place.  That’s easy enough to forget for now as Ange tangles her hand in her hair and gives her a high moan so tortured and sweet.  Ange puts on quite an act for everyone else and it’s one of Charlotte’s favorite things to watch it slip around her, the mild mannered girl she remembers from her childhood coming back out for just a moment.

Charlotte likes being able to break the act down completely, watch her come unraveled like she is now.  The girl who’s usually the coldest, most unreachable person any of them knows, heart and body bound up in black, suddenly naked and thrashing in front of her, sighing and whining a pretty treble no one else knows she can make.  Charlotte drinks in the sight of her, her severe expression traded in for one prettily strained with the impossible wave of feeling, all arched brows and gently closed eyes, flushed cheeks, and soft, open mouth.  Charlotte hums, smiling a little, where she’s kissing her between her thighs.  The sound itself seems almost too much for her.  She jerks violently.

The next thing Charlotte hears is a deafening clatter and she jumps and looks up just in time to see a shelf fall, knocked clean off its brackets.  She thinks Ange hit her head on it.  She pulls away to ask but before she can, Ange’s interrupting her frantically.

“I’m okay!” she tells her, voice breathless and falsely confident and she pulls her back to her. Charlotte giggles.  That’s as good as a plea not to stop and she obliges, quashing her giggling long enough to finish. It doesn’t take much longer than a few seconds for her.  She shudders with a squeal, muffled by her own hand, in scarcely the time it takes for the upset shelf to cease its clattering descent.  

As Ange starts to calm, legs still slung over Charlotte’s shoulders, panting and disoriented, she can’t keep it in any longer. Charlotte starts giggling, too tickled to even get up off the floor. She just tips over to sit on her hip, head still pillowed against the inside of Ange’s thigh, laughing.  Ange starts in too, breathless and giddy.

“Sorry, I didn’t want you to stop and it didn’t hit me hard.”

“No, no, it was-”

But Charlotte can’t even stop long enough to tell her it was funny, still in fits of laughter.

“This isn’t…ideal, is it?” Ange sits up and looks down at the toppled shelf, voice husky and back near its normal register.

“No, I wouldn’t say so. My dress is absolutely filthy. We already swept in here, I can’t understand how it’s still so dirty in here.  And goodness, I’m sweating. You are too.”

Ange looks lovely, skin gleaming lightly, sweating just enough for a little bit of hair at her temple to stick a little, cheeks pink.  Charlotte probably doesn’t look much different. The problem is they also look exactly like they’ve just finished making love in a crowded and filthy supply shed in humid heat on the beach. And tea is in a few minutes.

“I’d say something has to give but I’m not sure this isn’t the best we can do for now,” she sighs, the heat more sweltering than lovely now.  “Do we _have_  to go to tea?”

“If you don’t want them to be suspicious we do.”

“As if this isn’t suspicious,” Ange gestures to herself.

They dress quickly, bursting out of the door into air that, while still thick, seems infinitely cooler than the stuff in the confines of the shed.  They busy themselves fixing one another’s hair, straightening clothes, fanning one another in hopes the flush will go down.

“I guess there’s nothing for the stain then,” Charlotte examines the sundress she wears.  She’s managed to lighten up the stain but it hasn’t gone completely.

“It’s not that noticeable,” Ange justifies.

“Ah, you’re a liar sometimes, Ange.”

They venture to the house. Charlotte goes in the side door. Ange climbs back in her bedroom window and comes into the sitting area to join everyone from inside the house. Charlotte still thinks she looks a little flushed but she sets about helping with tea.

“How many sugars, Ange?”

“One, thanks.”

“Do you like sweeting Ange’s tea then, Charlotte?” Dorothy asks, a sly smile poised just over the lip of her cup, letting the implication hang in the air.

“Ah, are you disappointed no one’s put any sugar in yours, Dorothy? There’s no shame in doing it yourself, you know.”

“Well I don’t see why anyone’s making a to-do over tea.  Here, I put two sugars in yours, Princess,” Beatrice sniffs.

Dorothy chortles.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ange growls.

“Fuck. I like that one, how vulgar is that one?” Chise asks, considering the way it rolls off the tongue, pensive.

“Very! It’s not at all appropriate for polite conversation,” squeaks Beatrice, aiming a pointed glare at Ange who sips her tea with an air like she’d rather pour it on Dorothy than drink it.

“It’s not that bad,” Ange rolls her eyes.

“Funny you should be the one to say that, Ange, I distinctly remember you being way too shy to-”

“Fuck you too, Dorothy.”

“I think you have your hands a bit full for that, but I’m flattered.”

“It’s certainly not polite, but that’s what makes it fun I suppose.”

“Princess, please!” Beatrice wails.

“Princess, please,” Ange mutters, echoing Beatrice.

“Now, there’s no need for talk like that at the table, Ange,” Dorothy grins, smug.

This is the way it always goes. Dorothy turns an innocent phrase into innuendo, Charlotte volleys back, Beatrice either endlessly whines to be told what it means or scolds everyone for being impolite, Ange curses, Chise delights in adding more English profanity to her lexicon.

Dorothy seems to have a great talent for being able to hide in the open.  Unfortunately, her newest targets are Beatrice and Chise by way of Ange and Charlotte. She knows very well that Chise, while calculating, will miss some of the more suggestive euphemisms and expressions. And while Beatrice has a perfect command of English, she’s too hopelessly naive to catch on, leaving the way clear for her to pester Ange and Charlotte at-will.

If there were any questions before whether Dorothy had caught on, there aren’t any now. Since that night she cleared out the house for them, she’s been ruthlessly teasing them. Perhaps she views it as payment for the nudge she gave them in getting together.  Perhaps she wants them to be more honest with the group. Perhaps she just takes great pleasure in turning mundane phrases into the worst kind of suggestive puns.

Whatever her reason, it’s clear she means to take every advantage of it for as long as possible.

This is a war of attrition, Dorothy versus Ange and Charlotte, to see who will crack first.

Fortunately, Charlotte has had every bit of training she could possibly want to prepare her for this.  Dorothy’s ribbing is hilariously lacking compared to the double entendres and hidden meanings rife in even a sentence of conversation with a political peer.

She has a little less faith in poor Ange, who has taken to going stiff and silently disgruntled in Dorothy’s presence with bursts of aggravated cursing.

Really, you’d think having trained to withstand an interrogation would’ve prepared her for this. Charlotte knows she’s handled more dangerous operations. But then, maybe that’s why she’s so ill-equipped for this. Staring death in the face is no problem for her. But being the butt of an off-colour joke? Disaster.

It doesn’t help that any open discussion of anything vaguely sexual reduces her to a bundle of frayed nerves. She’s more than happy to participate, but discussing it is incomprehensible.

Even if it is so much fun to watch. There’s something lovely about watching the same woman shoot a target with cold, deadly accuracy one moment and dissolve into a blushing, stuttering mess the next.

Charlotte couldn’t care either way whether Beatrice and Chise know. She doesn’t think Ange necessarily does either, she’s just too flustered to know how to break it to them.  Ange has only just gotten used to the idea of being in any sort of romantic relationship and is at a loss for how she’s supposed to behave or what she’s supposed to do about it.

Charlotte would just as soon tell them and spare Ange the cursing, but then, she also likes the way Dorothy’s teasing makes Ange squirm so prettily.

She supposes, though, the kindest thing to do is ask her.

“Ange, darling, you know if Dorothy’s actually bothering you you should let her know,” she tells her later, walking alone together along the beach.

“No, it’s not that, she’s just being a pest.”

“As long as it’s not actually becoming a problem. You seem to get quite flustered is all. What do you usually do when she teases you?”

“Get her back.”

“We could do that.  We could also just tell them. Take away her ammunition so to speak. Unless that upsets you, of course.”

“No, I don’t mind, I just. It never seems like the right time, I don’t even know how we’d say it, I-”

“I don’t mind broaching the topic if it’s alright with you.”

“Please.  I’m not good with these kinds of things.”

“And I’ve trained for the past ten years to broach difficult things exactly like this, I’m happy to do it.”

“Thank you. The only thing is-”

She goes quiet and pensive.

“What is it?”

Ange growls and suddenly she’s off, as if she was waiting for the permission to come a little unhinged, words tumbling out.

“I just don’t want to give her the satisfaction yet! In case this is what she wants us to do. I don’t want her to think she won,” she huffs and goodness, the pout she’s giving her is impossible.

“You know, I’m afraid if you put your lip out much farther, a bird’s going to land on it.”

“What?”

“You’re pouting.”

“Well, I don’t want her to win! She won last time!”

“Last time?”

Ange refuses to answer for a moment before she finally relents, muttering as if she’s hoping Charlotte won’t hear her.

“Dorothy and I have been in something of a prank war for the last ten years.”

“You know, it would end if one of you just realized it’s a bit petty and stopped. Not that I can fault you for it, I got caught up in something of a rivalry with one of my schoolmates and we tried for years to wear the same color to formal functions. Try to compete or make the other seem like a copycat, you know.”

“Then you know how important it is not to let her win.”

“I do. Seems like we both have a competitive streak. Let’s hope we’re never in competition with each other. Although, it could be fun.”

“How so?”

“I have some things in mind.  But that’s a bit beside the point now. I think we can resolve this together.”

“But I just said I’m not good with these sorts of things.”

“Not with talking about difficult things. But you can think on your feet. You’re an opportunist. You help me get back at Dorothy. And when you do, that’s when we break it to them. Cushion the blow as it were.”

“So, you’re suggesting we embarrass Dorothy so breaking the news isn’t as shocking.”

“What do you think? Too mean?”

“No way. It’s perfect.”

“Oh, good, because I’ve been trying hard not to let it show but she’s starting to annoy.”

“Starting? You’re more generous than me.”

“I’m not sure about that. That comment this morning might’ve been a bit harsh.”

“You have no idea how thick her skin is.”

“Is she thick-skinned or are you more sensitive than you’d like to let on?”

“What? I’m not sensitive!”

“Of course not,” she kisses her cheek and the flush that answers her makes her grin.

Getting to Dorothy is much easier said than done. She’s not easy to fool and even harder to fluster.  A few times, Charlotte thinks she spots opportunities to ruffle her, even suggests a few to Ange, but Ange shakes her head.

“Not enough. She’ll catch on if we don’t do it right. It has to be good.”

Their mission picks up when they finally spot the Duke of Normandy off of the very same beach they’re sunbathing on and Charlotte dismisses the thought. There’ll be no pranking Dorothy when they’re chasing him up and down Casablanca.

They have a particularly close call trying to tail him.  Thankfully, they don’t think he caught on, but they got caught in crossfire between the Kingdom spies and a small team of Irish ones who took them for Kingdom spies too.

“Nothing like getting shot at by people on the same side as you,” Dorothy shakes her head.

“There’s no way to tell the difference in the field like that,” Ange sighs. “No fire is friendly fire- ah”

She winces and the expression and sound weigh on Charlotte every time she does it.  She’s been grazed by a bullet, a red-hot line across her right calf. It didn’t go through or leave much behind, but it’s just enough to bleed in a way that makes her sick to her stomach. Chise sits on the floor, expertly sewing it up. Charlotte wishes she knew how,but the best she can do is hold her hand.

Ange was just a split second late trying to head off the Duke and find his base here. She succeeded as long as he and his own spies didn’t see her. They’re not sure of that yet. If she’d been even a little earlier, she would’ve gotten out unscathed.

“Well,there’s nothing for it and all we can do is wait and see what happens. Looks like you’re in good hands in here, so I’m going to get out of this thing,” Dorothy gestures to an overlarge, low-cut dress she used to get into the party where it all started, their starting point in their chase. Beatrice is wearing a similar, although more modest one.

“Beatrice can help you out of it.  We’ll send it off to be cleaned,” Charlotte tells her. It’s mostly to give Beatrice something to do because she’s starting to sway, pale at the sight of blood.

“But we sent the laundry off tonight-” Beatrice protests.

“It’s alright, we’ll put it with next week’s.”

They disappear to help each other out of the heavy finery. Charlotte almost misses Ange whisper.

“Get ready,” Ange mutters to her, just before Beatrice reappears, in nightclothes with the two dresses and undergarments piled in her arms, several times her size.

“What did you do?” Charlotte asks although she’s not sure she wants to know.

Chise looks between them and opens her mouth to ask, but she’s cut off by Dorothy’s bellowing from the back bedroom.

“Exactly how much laundry did we send off today, Princess!?”

“Whatever you put in the bag, Dorothy,” she calls sweetly, ignoring Dorothy’s irritation.

“It looks like quite a lot more than I put in!”

“Just wear something else, you’ll be fine!” Ange calls and Charlotte wouldn’t think twice about it if Ange didn’t just tell her to get ready.  For what, she’s not sure.

There’s no preparing anyone for it. Dorothy storms in a huff into the room.

“I would, Ange, but you didn’t leave me a stitch of clothing to put on.  Not even a sheet to cover with. Even a pillow case would’ve been nice.”

She’s standing there, stark naked, not a care in the world.

Beatrice turns around and yelps, covering her eyes.

“D-Dorothy you’re not decent!!! Put your clothes on!”

Chise drops her needle and gapes, too shocked to avert her eyes.

Ange seems used to it and Charlotte imagines this isn’t the first time this has happened.  Charlotte isn’t terribly bothered herself.  She’s a lovely sight besides. Dorothy isn’t so much embarrassed at her own indecency as she is furious with what she perceives as Ange’s lack of focus.

“I wish I could put my clothes on, Beatrice, but I can’t. Because it looks like all of my clothes mysteriously got put into the laundry.  And my sheets too. Towels. Even the curtains. Every last sorry scrap of fabric in the room.  Ange, dammit, I can’t believe you’d jeopardize a mission for something like this!”

It all clicks. The split second lateness that’s so uncharacteristic of her. The gash on her calf.  The fact that they would’ve picked up the laundry during the chase.

“Ange. You didn’t,” she murmurs. This is a little far even for Charlotte.

She shrugs, as casual about Dorothy’s state of undress as she is about the bleeding gash on her calf.  Ange, somehow, in the course of the mission came back here, stripped Dorothy’s entire room, threw it in the bag before the laundry was picked up, and only made it back about a second late.  She might’ve even planned the timeline of the whole thing around just this.

“Ange why would you take all her clothes? Eep!” Beatrice peeks through her fingers but closes them again upon finding that Dorothy is still undressed.

“Probably because she hasn’t stopped pestering me for almost a month and she got what she deserved for it.”

“Wait, what has she been doing?” Chise scowls, finally unfreezing after a few minutes of being still as stone. She’s still careful to subtly avert her eyes, making sure to keep her eyes well above chest-level when she looks at Dorothy. She’s not comfortable, but if Ange and Charlotte aren’t bothered, maybe it’s normal.

“Dorothy has been rather pointedly teasing us about our relationship for quite some time and taking advantage of the fact that you two are less likely to understand what she’s implying,” Charlotte tells them and Chise’s scowl goes deeper.

“I don’t like being tricked, Dorothy.”

“And I don’t like standing here with no clothes. Obviously I miscalculated.  I was trying to keep things unified and light-hearted and keep the lines of communication open. Obviously Ange had other plans.”

“Oh, suddenly it’s not light-hearted when it’s you being pranked, hm?”

“Why would you make fun of them for being friends?! That’s not a decent thing to do, Dorothy!” Beatrice admonishes, eyes still covered.

Poor Beatrice. She’s always had such a knack for awful timing.

“Ah, yes, well. Now might be an appropriate time to clarify that the nature of our relationship isn’t necessarily friendly, Beatrice, it’s primarily romantic,” Charlotte mentions as if it’s just offhand knowledge.

The silence is palpable, but Charlotte has had a lot of experience with pauses like these. She happily worries with the end of Ange’s braid, as if to punctuate her statement, accentuate its meaning.

“W-what?! What do you mean?” Beatrice wails,  Dorothy’s nudity suddenly forgotten.

“I meant what I said, we’re romantically involved. Courting if you want to call it that.  Dorothy’s been teasing us about it for a few weeks.”

“Am I the only one who didn’t know?!”

“No, Chise didn’t either.”

Chise jumps at having been mentioned as if she wants to blend into the floor rather than give her two cents on the matter.

“I wasn’t aware of that. But I suppose it makes sense.”

“Makes sense?” Ange asks, jerking a little and wincing, having pulled too much on the place Chise is stitching.

“Well I did mean what I said that I can’t imagine you in a relationship with a man. I hadn’t considered the alternative. The alternative does make sense.”

Charlotte isn’t sure whether Chise really is this calm or just trying to blend in and match the calm tone in the room. Besides Beatrice, anyway.

“Why does it..you know what? Never mind. Now you know. Which may have been what Dorothy was after and she would’ve gotten it earlier if she hadn’t been so annoying about it.”

Beatrice has started to quietly wail.

“Oh Beatrice, come here, dear,” Charlotte murmurs, sitting and Beatrice clambers into her lap.

“Only you could take my bids at team unity and fuck them up this badly, Ange.  You’re injured, Chise’s half-catatonic, and Beatrice is in tears.”

“Only you could decide team unity meant pestering your teammates and botch the whole thing.”

“Y-you’re trying to steal Princess from everyone-” Beatrice stutters, pointing at Ange, accusing and tearful.

“Now, Beatrice, she hadn’t stolen anyone. I’m still here. Just because I love Ange doesn’t mean you’re not important.”

“You l-love her?!”

“Yes. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Y-yes it does, you don’t love m-me l-like that-”

“I’m not sure tonight is a good time to go into the particulars of this.”

Things quiet down.  Chise keeps stitching, Beatrice’s wailing slows to sniffles although Charlotte knows she’s far from over it.  Dorothy crams herself into one of Charlotte’s nightdresses.  It barely fits, but it’ll do for the night.  Ange sighs.

“I’m sorry I jeopardized a mission to get back at you,” she mutters, grudging, directed at Dorothy, refusing to make eye contact.   
  
Dorothy shrugs.  

“I’m sorry I teased you about fucking Charlotte.”

Beatrice squeaks and her tears pick back up.

“Such a good word,” Chise pauses as if savoring it.

“Really, now. If this is what having children is like I’m not sure I want any,” Charlotte tells them, calm.

“You’re telling me,” Dorothy huffs.

“Dorothy, I’m not sure if you realize, but you were included as one of the children when I said that.”

Dorothy shrugs, pours a generous amount of whiskey in a glass, sips some, and then thrusts it into Beatrice’s hand.

“Try a little of that. Can’t say it’ll make it much better. It may even make you cry harder, but at least it’ll put you to sleep.”

Beatrice takes a tearful sip and is promptly attacked by a sputtering coughing fit.

“It burns,” she gasps. “And it tastes awful, why do you like this?!”

“I like the burn.  And the taste. Reminds me I’m alive,” Dorothy jokes even though Charlotte imagines it’s the truth.

“I don’t want this,” Beatrice whines and Charlotte takes it gently from her. She’s even curious enough to try a sip. She doesn’t cough, but evidently she can’t hide how inexperienced she is with the stuff.

“You’re beet-red, give me that,” Ange sighs, reaches across and takes it from her. She barely has any past her lips when Chise snatches it from her.

“It’ll make you bleed,” she deftly knocks back half the glass as Ange pouts. “What did you say this is made from again?”

“It varies.  This one’s barley. Now can I have my drink back?” Dorothy explains before thrusting her hand out for her glass.

Chise drains it before handing it back.

“Should you be doing that while you’re doing that?” Ange gestures at her leg.

“Should you be jeopardizing missions for fun? And it doesn’t matter, you’re done,” she declares, snipping the end of the thread.

“Thank you,” Ange tells her sincerely and Dorothy resumes drinking from the bottle this time.

Chise nods curtly. Beatrice leaves Charlotte’s lap to curl up beside Dorothy, too unsure whether she feels betrayed by Princess, Ange, or both to handle it anymore.  

Charlotte has to admit it’s a relief not to have to mask so many things. She’s not sure they’re ready to hear the full story yet. She’s not sure if either of them will ever be ready to tell it. But at least there’s the way she can rest her head on Ange’s shoulder and murmur to her not to endanger herself like that again.  At least there’s a moment with friends and fewer things to hide.  Charlotte isn’t under any delusion that she’ll ever live a moment without something left to hide in the depths of her. But the relief of a few fewer for just a moment is heady and sweet.

“You should’ve told us,” Chise crosses her arms. “I wouldn’t have left that time if I had known.”

“A lot of this would’ve gone differently if one of them had been a little more honest,” Dorothy sighs.

“How long?” Chise asks.

Charlotte sighs and doesn’t answer.

“Not very long,” Ange answers.

Dorothy smiles fondly.

“You know, I think you may be a liar, Ange.”

They drift into companionable silence. Beatrice’s one sip of scotch seems to have put her to sleep. She slumps into Dorothy’s side. Chise seems at ease, the looming feeling that something is up assuaged for now.  Dorothy looks mildly disappointed but calm enough and very flushed with half a bottle in her.  Ange gets up and calmly takes it and puts it away and Dorothy doesn’t protest. Charlotte supposes that’s as close to reconciliation as they get.

And then there’s the lovely way no one seems very surprised or bothered when Charlotte follows Ange into her room in the evening.  They wordlessly change and nestle into bed together.

“An improvement from the shed, isn’t it?” Ange smiles and Charlotte giggles.

“An infinite improvement. I’m excited for the new possibilities tomorrow. If you think you can stay quiet enough,” she winks and Ange grins so brightly in a way only Charlotte gets to see.  “But I don’t think that’s my favorite part.”

“Oh? No?”

“No.  This is.”

She kisses her sweetly and when she pulls away they rest on the same pillow, soft and close and entangled. They’ve never gotten to do this.  Just lie together. Sleep with the comfort of the other’s breath and warmth on the other side.

“Mine too,” Ange whispers to the soft rustle of sheets between them.


End file.
